Silver Threads
by The Duelist's Heiress
Summary: "What is life but a tapestry woven with a single thread?"He thinks as the memory of the lingering aroma of vanilla that always followed her, and her elegant stride pace softly through his head. One thing prevents a smile... as he recalls the last time she spoke to him… at this port. It was not pleasant.- Marik X OC and the results of that pairing. AU of my "Powers AU"


**DH AN: **Hi! I have another fic here. It's a twist on my Alternate Timeline mess. I'm not gonna say much more than that, aside from that it's going to occur at two distinct ages for Marik 17 and 32, and I'll make note of which one.

He's 32 in this first chapter, and referred to solely by my favorite initialed moniker for him (The R.H.).

**Summary: **She was hungry. He remembers that. The fear in her eyes when she stumbled into his office to hide from her pursuers… he remembers that too. How she would run her hands through her red hair and wince at the snags when she was nervous. The lingering aroma of vanilla that always followed her. Her elegant stride. One thing prevents a smile... as he recalls the last time she spoke to him… at this port. It was not pleasant.

**Pairing: **Marik Ishtar X Filiron Rylae (the OC), and… ahem, it's results… not sure which name I'll go with, that poor girl has too many options throughout the original AU!

Enjoy the first chapter of **Silver Threads.**

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**Silver Threads**

**Chapter One**

He stops the door to the shed from closing with a soundless hand. The figure's footsteps were pounding against the cement; there was no indication of his pursuit. The night is moonless, in favor of his observation.

Twin bands of silver thread around the left sleeve catch his eye as the figure slips the cloak from their left shoulder and down the right, catching it on their fingers, careful not to let it touch the floor. As they hang it on a hook once meant for tools, he sees why the sound of their paces was clunky and almost cacophonic; the boots did not fit and were far too tall. The steps absolutely had to be certain, otherwise it would spell disaster.

His eyes then trail up the outline in the darkness. Now in profile, he sees that his robber is a female, severely emaciated. The fact that she can even stand is a miracle. She pulls off her boots and throws them against the wall and the contact sounds with a booming thud. Once the reverberation dies down, he hears her rummaging for something in the pockets of a jacket that is, like the boots, far too large for her. He hears the distinct sound of an attempt to strike a match. The girl curses under her breath and opens the matchbox again and pulls a no doubt precious implement from it. He hears a sigh of relief as light steadily fills the farthest corner of the shed.

He steps inside, but out of reach of the illumination. The shed is open and drafty, but for the moment that works to his advantage. He watches her set the match to a candle and the flame finds rest on the wick. She blows out the match and tosses it aside. He watches as the girl pulls off a black ski cap smudged with dirt and dust and tosses the headwear aside. Released from confinement, red hair falls to rest just below her shoulders. As she runs her fingers through it, wincing every time there is a snag, his thoughts turn to another who managed to intrude on his methods.

She was hungry. He remembers that. The fear in her eyes when she stumbled into his office to hide from her pursuers… he remembers that too. How she would run her hands through her red hair and wince at the snags when she was nervous. The lingering aroma of vanilla that always followed her. Her elegant stride. One thing prevents a smile... as he recalls the last time she spoke to him… at this port. It was not pleasant.

Seeing this girl sitting on a mattress in an absolute hovel, brings the memory back with a vengeance. The sagging posture that intensifies the exhaustion that seems to be rolling off her in waves. The scent of coffee from a small stand beside the alley is faint. He watches as the girl on the mattress pulls a small manila envelope from underneath an old shirt that's rolled into a makeshift pillow. She is about to tuck the card inside its confines.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me." The girl startles and immediately sidles to the far corner. She keeps the envelope in her grasp and her focus on it, visibly tensing as The R.H. steps closer and moves the candle away and to another portion of the wall. "You've stolen it from me." He pauses, stooping to pluck the envelope from the girl's fingers. "You, little bandit, have intercepted three of my retrievals this week alone. I don't take kindly to those who interfere."

"What use do you have for them?" Her fingers do not yield, but her voice shakes. "I'll have food for-for three weeks if I sell these."

So this one hungers too. "Food for three weeks in this hovel? With ragged clothes? Tell me... how do you survive all the other weeks of the year?"

"I manage." The R.H. watches the girl's fists clench.

"Surely you wish to do more than that. Desperation can only fuel one for so long." He looks in the direction of the cloak hanging on the hook near the door. "It wasn't desperation that allowed you to blend in well enough to flee with the spoils." He gets lost in his memories as he asks his next question. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to meddle in things that don't concern you?"

"She's...gone." The girl shakes and releases her grasp on the envelope. As if her will to resist had never been there at all.

"She was a fool to leave you on your own." He lets the envelope stay within her reach.

"It's not that." She tenses again. "She- she died when I was ten." He is silent. "Five years ago."

"Why did you wait?" The R.H. nods his head toward the cloak.

"Had to grow into it." She relaxes minutely. "I didn't want to ruin it." He nods and motions for her to continue. "It... was my mother's."

"What of your father?" Filiron Rylae was pregnant? Fifteen years ago?

"I never knew him."

Then he sees her eyes. They are a reflection of his own. That have seen far too much for so little time. Eyes that were once soft.

He steps back, the sound resounding on the concrete. He shows nothing, not that it would matter; the candle had gone out already. He exhales and turns to the doorway. "Two days will see the departure of your meal ticket, little bandit." Stepping over to where the cloak hangs, The R.H., more out of pity, stuffs a handful of bills in the hanging cloak's pocket, and barely avoids grasping a sleeve between his fingers. "You would be a fool to pass this opportunity." With that, he places a lighter near the door and exits as soundlessly as he entered.

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**DH: **Please leave a review if you like. If you enjoyed Marik's presentation here, I have other AU Fics that this one sorta spawned from.

Also, this is only being posted because I FINALLY finished the chapter of the coauthored fic, _**In a Name: Act I. **_And you can find that either under my Favorite Stories or at the author page- **MManipulative33. **Frankly I think it's the best chapter yet, so please do go read it if you like Marik X OC fics.

I've got a One shot that's in progress and another Chapter of _**Healing Presence **_in the works as well! So that's what you can look forward to from just me!


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